Chapter Seven-
"Because Randomly Transforming into a Wolf is Not Socially Acceptable in Most Places"
Alright, I would just like to point out now that I have had my fair share of unpleasant surprises for one week. For starters, I have a logarithm test on Monday that I'm definitely unprepared for. Secondly, the landlord's gonna kill us when he sees the giant claw mark on our floor. There's also the whole car accident thing, my secret relatives, homemade pancakes, and the recent discovery that werewolves are not genetically programmed to do the doggy paddle. And let's not forget that I turn into a colossal wolf every time I get angry. Isn't that enough to stand for one weekend? Don't I get some kind of break? Apparently not.
"What?" I gawk at Sam in disbelief. We're in Billy's living room, and he and Sam are both looking back at me with stony expressions. At first, I'm too shocked to be mad. He can't be serious. Out of all the unbelievable things I've heard, this has to be the craziest.
"You want me to move… here?" I repeat skeptically.
Sam's hard-masked expression fades, and I can see how unhappy he is. He obviously doesn't want to put me through this. Why would he? We didn't exactly meet on friendly terms. He probably wants me gone just as much as I'd like to be, but this is his responsibility. He's the Alpha. I already figured that out.
But I didn't know this whole "pack" thing included me or that "crusher of childhood dreams" was part of the job description.
He lets out a tired breath I didn't know he was holding and turns to Billy.
"Billy, can you give us a minute alone please?"
My uncle eyes me with a look that says "You get angry and tear up my house, you're gonna have hell to pay." And despite the fact that I'm a flesh-tearing wolf and he's a handicapped old man, I have no doubt in my mind I'd be sorry if I did. On the plus side, if I managed to destroy the house bad enough, I probably wouldn't have in live in it, but I could never do that…
Stupid Conscience.
He wheels himself outside, and it's just me and Sam. He goes over it again, hoping I'll take this more seriously than the first time. His voice is firm and emotionless.
"We can't allow you to go back to California. You're moving to La Push as soon as possible. Billy has agreed that you can stay in his daughters' old bedroom. You're transferring to tribal school on the Reservation, so you can finish up high school. That's solely to keep up appearances. Just focus on controlling your temper and not drawing any attention to yourself. Get used to the pack, because they're all you're going to see for awhile. You will not associate with any humans for at least another year or so."
He makes it sound so simple. Leave the only home I've ever known. Leave my mother and my best friends. Alex. Marco. Twizler. Ronnie. Babybel. Toby. Quit my job and forget my once-in-a-lifetime scholarship at Evanburrow Prep. All the summer courses and studying I put into passing that stupid entrance exam. All for nothing? The graffiti-covered skate park. The beat-up bowling alley with the really good french-fries. The homeless guy who throws pennies at me as I'm waiting for the bus. Just forget it all and move to a horror movie version of goddam Pleasantville. I don't think so!
"It's not just for your own good, Kiley. It's for the people you care about," Sam begins, and goes into this sad little speech about protecting the ones around me.
In retrospect, I am aware you don't care exactly what he said, but you can get the general gist of this little tear-jerking moment. He's all, "You've gotta do the right thing." And I'm thinking, "Poor me. My life is over. Blah Blah Blah," but I know I have to make this sacrifice for my family and friends. However, just because I agree with him doesn't mean I like it. Seriously, I don't know you personally or anything, but if someone told you to pack up and leave behind everything you care about (yes, even your beloved homeless guy) you'd be pissed too.
My hands are balled up into fists to keep them from shaking, and, surprisingly enough, I'm fighting back tears in my eyes. I won't let him see me cry though. Even if it's not his fault, I can't help feeling he's taken enough from me in one day.
Call me a diva or whatever, but I storm out of the living room while he's in mid sentence and slam the screen door behind me. I get a few meters before I realize I'm starving. I hesitate on the porch, waiting for hunger or dignity to weigh out. Against my pride, I stomp back into the house with as much force as I can muster and make myself a sandwich. Hey, just because I'm fuming doesn't mean I've gotta be hungry too.
I dig into the fridge and yank out some bread and cheese like it's nobody business. I don't bother to see how Sam reacts to it. The cheese hits the bread with a hard slap, I take my sandwich, and I reenact my little dramatic exit.
I finish the sandwich in five giant bites and it still isn't enough. Damn. I wonder what the "recommended amount of calories" is for the average werewolf chick. It's not exactly something you can google. The guys didn't seem to have any problem swallowing ten pancakes in one sitting. Poor Miss Martha Stewart must be slaving over a hot stove 24-7.
I'm in the woods before I even notice I'm walking in that direction, which is good. I need some time to myself. I still haven't wrapped my head around it all yet. The woods, that had seemed so scary last night, turns out to be much more peaceful now. It's not quiet exactly. I can hear everything within a five mile radius. But they're not the kind of noises I'm used to. Car horns. Police sirens. Construction. Too-loud drunks stumbling around. The sound of birds chirping, running water, and rustling leaves are almost kind of nice.
I follow the sound of running water and pick out a moss-covered tree along the stream. I sit against its trunk and wrap my arms around my knees. It's surrounded by wild berry bushes, so I'm invisible to anyone coming up the trail. I drop my head in exhaustion.
What am I going to do? I groan internally.
I'm a freak. Okay, not a real shocker there. I've never been Miss Popularity anyway. Now I'm just a furry freak with claws and a tail. I can handle that.
Moving to La Push. Bigger problem. Without even realizing it, I've already decided to stay. As if I had a choice to begin with. So the real issue is coming up with a story. I use my unimaginative thought process to the best of my ability, but eventually sleep wins and I decide, while I'm hidden, might as well get some shuteye.
I drift into consciousness by the sound of two voices nearby.
"… does she think happened?"
"She thinks Billy called her. Some family emergency. I don't know." Paul.
"And she came to the rescue?"
"More like Kiley was mad at her for not mentioning Billy and Jake all this time."
"Seems a little farfetched. Don't ya think?" The other voice sounded kinda like Jared.
"It's enough to keep our cover. Can ya smell that? She's close."
I hear the sound of leaves crunch under something heavy, and big, hard hands start shaking me.
"C'mon, Sleeping Beauty," Paul's sarcastic voice grumbles. "Time to get up."
"But it's Saturday," I moan, wondering what Paul's doing in my bedroom.
"Wake up," he sings through clenched teeth. He shakes me harder, but not enough to hurt me.
"I don't wanna," I whine like a five year-old and squeeze my eyes tight.
"Okay. Forget this," Paul snarls and tries slapping me awake.
Then I feel the sting of my hand against Paul's face.
"Ouch!"
My eyes fly open. There's a pink mark on Paul's left cheek, fading fast, and he's got a sneering expression his face. That's when my brain starts working again and I understand that I just struck the boy across the face.
Here's the thing. I've mentioned already I'm far from being a violent person, right? That's still true. However, waking me up is another story. Why do you think I drink so much coffee? I should have a warning label on my backside between the hours of 4am and 7am. Something like "Warning: If you are tired of having all your fingers attached, feel free to repeatedly poke until woken up."
"Didn't you're mother ever tell you not hit girls?" I growl at him. He starts shaking fiercely and, without a word, tramples angrily through the berry bushes. I hear the sound of him transforming and I let out a surrendering sigh.
Way to go, girl. Now Sam and Paul hate you. Keep it up and you're gonna need a goldfish or something.
I rub my eyes and the sound of Jared's laughing causes me to look up.
"Nice backhand," he comments, a grin on his face. "That kid needs to get smacked around every so often. There's only so much a pack can take."
I blink the last of the sleep from my eyes and give him a sheepish grin. I always knew I liked him.
"Here, you've got leaves stuck to your back. Lemme help you," he offers as he hoists me to my feet. "It's getting late. They want you back at the house."
He starts picking them off before I can say anything. When he gets further down my lower back I start to blush, but he doesn't seem to notice anything's wrong. Like I was his little sister or something. That's when something dawns on me. It comes out before I think twice about it.
"Jared, are you gay?"
He stops what he's doing to get a good look at me. His eye brows are crunched together in confusion, and my face is flushed in embarrassment.
"No," he answers in a one-hundred-percent certain tone of voice.
"Oh," I reply lamely, brushing the rest of the leaves off myself, so I don't have to face him. I go around him, start heading down the trail, and he walks awkwardly beside me with his longer strides.
That's three in row! You've gotta hold some kind of world record by now!
"Why would you think that?" He finally asks, breaking the silence.
"I…uh….it's just that….well…it doesn't really matter…" I stammer.
"Go on." He almost sounds amused, and this throws me off.
"Well…you weren't….looking at me the same way the other boys were at breakfast…" His puzzled face tells me he's not getting it.
"After I…shifted back…into a girl…and…just now…you were…"
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Kiley…um...don't get me wrong or anything…it's not that you're…unattractive or anything…," he's rubbing the back of his neck, staring deliberately at the trail in front of us, and I'm cursing myself out in a million different ways. Why did I have to open my big mouth? I didn't want to be having this conversation. But it isn't what I expect.
Instead, I learn about the magical world of imprinting. Pretty much, it's this whole "love at first sight" thing and this entire lovey-dovey soul mate crap that most people don't believe in anymore. Why? Because it's all over-exaggerated by the hallmark industry to sell more junk on Valentine's Day and encouraged by lonely forty year-old cat ladies who want, but don't have, a man in their lives. Like werewolves and vampires, I thought "true love" was generally in the make believe section of the reality department. But, of course, it exists, along with everything else.
It's not the way that this poor guy goes on and on about this Kim chick. It's the flat-out adoration in his eyes that I have never seen on any male before while talking about his girlfriend. So there's another thing I get to look forward to while being a werewolf: Eternal love.
Gag me.
And just when my day couldn't get any better, it does.
As we get in eye-sight of Billy's house, I see the scariest, most heart-stopping thing I've had to deal with since I've gotten here, and I almost go sprinting in the other direction. It's there on the porch, arms crossed, with the most bloodthirsty expression I've ever seen before in my life.
My mom.
